


jealousy is a disease

by skirtsuna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Bottomi Week 2021, Breathplay, Degradation, Derogatory Language, Edging, Hair-pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Rimming, Rough Sex, Spit Kink, Top Miya Atsumu, Verbal Humiliation, barely even proofread lmao, no beta as always, omi is a brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29877036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skirtsuna/pseuds/skirtsuna
Summary: Sex with Atsumu was great, but Kiyoomi craved more. Years of watching cheesy rom-coms have led him to one solution: make Atsumu jealous.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 204
Collections: Bottomi Week 2021





	jealousy is a disease

**Author's Note:**

> for bottomi week 2021: day 4 - “I might let you have it… if you can convince me.” | day 6 - degradation
> 
> please read the tags first and proceed with caution! scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/skirtsuna) <3

Sakusa Kiyoomi never found communication difficult. On the contrary, he was always frank, always forward with what he wanted. 

However, this was a matter he had trouble bringing up to Atsumu.

It wasn’t like Kiyoomi was unhappy with their… sexual endeavors. Sex with Atsumu was great; the setter was sweet and gentle, always asking him if this was okay or if he was feeling good. His thoughtfulness was deeply appreciated, but Kiyoomi desired more. He wanted it rough—he wanted to be treated like a fucktoy, wanted to be roughed around as Atsumu railed him into oblivion. 

He knew that communication is key to a good and healthy relationship, but matters like this are still a little daunting for him, considering that they have only been dating for five months. He still hasn’t mustered up the courage to open up to Atsumu about his preferences in the bedroom, fearing that Atsumu would be creeped out, and in the worst case scenario, break up with him.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. Atsumu would never break up with him over such a trivial predicament, but that doesn’t make it any easier for Kiyoomi to just sit Atsumu down and unpack all of his concerns.

He had trouble telling Atsumu directly, and years of watching rom-coms had led him to one solution: make Atsumu jealous. 

It always worked out in the movies, so the plan would have some credibility, right? Maybe if Atsumu’s emotions were at its peak, he would just grab Kiyoomi by the collar, throw him onto their bed like a ragdoll, and dick him down into the mattress all night.

Ambitious, he knows, with a high risk of Atsumu getting really mad at him. Directly telling the setter wouldn’t result in a breakup, but this one has potential. 

However, Kiyoomi doesn’t intend to get him that mad. Maybe just a little jealousy would incite a flame of possessiveness, get his testosterones pumped, and Kiyoomi would be able to have mind-blowing sex with his partner.

He started off the plan with some of the Black Jackals members. He would deliberately stare at Bokuto’s shoulders longer, or make sure he looked Meian up and down for a few seconds. It wasn’t much, but he trusted that Atsumu was observant enough to notice. 

And observant Atsumu was, but alas, he didn’t give it too much thought. Even when Kiyoomi would approach Bokuto in the locker room, telling him, “your biceps have gotten bigger, Bokuto-san,” Atsumu only looks over and hurriedly agrees, taking the chance to squeeze said man’s arms.

Atsumu was just too positive for his own good. He could never see anything wrong with Kiyoomi, or perhaps anyone else, always seeing the good in things. 

So it comes completely unexpected to Kiyoomi that Atsumu’s kryptonite is his twin brother.

They were currently lounging around on the stools at Onigiri Miya, a few minutes after it had closed. Kiyoomi insisted on going even though it was late, reasoning that firstly, he was badly craving Osamu’s umeboshi onigiri. 

That was partially true, but he also wanted to learn from the chef himself how to cook up a decent onigiri. Traveling all the way to Onigiri Miya was costly, both financially and time-wise, and Kiyoomi thought it would be a good idea to let Osamu teach him so he could prepare onigiri anytime Atsumu was feeling homesick or simply hungry.

There were no malicious intentions with his actions. He did genuinely want to learn how to make one of Atsumu’s favorite delicacies, although they would never compare to the delectable onigiri that Osamu specialized in. 

Initially, there were no malicious intentions, yet as Kiyoomi noticed Atsumu’s eyes boring into the back of their heads as he sat behind the counter, observing the pair closely standing next to each other, he figured he might as well seize the opportunity and hit two birds with one stone.

“Hey Osamu, could you repeat that? I can’t quite understand how your hands mold.” Kiyoomi leans in closer for good measure, a mischievous glint now making its way into his eyes. Osamu remains oblivious to this and merely molds another onigiri in his hand, going slower this time so the other can catch on.

He dons a confused expression, facing his own ball of rice and sloppily forming it into a questionable shape. This part was unintentional—he genuinely still couldn’t get the hang of how to shape the rice properly. 

As this whole ordeal was transpiring, Atsumu was only silently staring at the both of them, onigiri long forgotten on his plate as his eyes narrowed in on the pair.

Osamu was a patient mentor, instructing Kiyoomi how to curve his hands and how much pressure he should be applying. The latter follows diligently, but when he begins to shape another handful of rice, it still ends up looking botched. He huffs at this, shoulders sagging slightly with his eyebrows furrowing in mild frustration.

“Here, lemme help ya out on that.” Kiyoomi internally beams at this, because as Osamu’s hands reach out to his, he feels rather than sees Atsumu’s gaze turn menacing. It’s as if Osamu was playing right into his ploy, and he can barely contain his smile.

Atsumu likes to think he is patient. Highly unlikely for his character, but he does believe that he has greatly developed from his past high school self, leaving the angsty and irritable teen behind. However, just because he has learned to extend his patience doesn’t mean it is infinite.

It isn’t infinite, and it is definitely diminishing by the second as his twin brother leans in closer, his chin almost resting on Kiyoomi’s shoulder.

When Osamu’s hands hover above the other’s to guide him with molding the onigiri, Atsumu feels his blood rapidly rushing beneath his veins. He almost sees red. 

Kiyoomi turns his head to the side and he smiles, face merely inches away from Osamu.

Right about now, the thin, teetering thread of patience in him snaps.

“Don’t touch him.” Atsumu punctuates with the slam of his metal chopsticks against his plate. 

The startling sound stuns the pair by the kitchen counter, and they both instinctively move away from each other, as if they were unaware of their close proximity moments ago. 

Osamu is the first one to snap out of his daze, “o-oh, sorry Kiyoomi, forgot ya weren’t comfy with that.”

Kiyoomi, however, was unable to formulate coherent words. All he could do was blink and slowly nod at Osamu’s remark, mind still replaying what had just occurred. This was the first time he had seen his boyfriend get mad, and the only thought he could produce was _holy shit that was so hot._

Sure, he had witnessed Atsumu get frustrated during a match, but this was a different situation.

Atsumu’s looming stare doesn’t falter, even as he tells his boyfriend to clean up, picking up their training bags and bidding a goodbye to his twin, excusing that they were both already exhausted from practice earlier that day. Kiyoomi only manages to wave Osamu goodbye before his boyfriend is pulling him by his wrist, dragging him out of the restaurant. 

It is only when they are both seated inside Atsumu’s car, the faux blonde starting up the engine, that Kiyoomi somehow recovers from his state. He turns his head to stare at his lover, words failing him as Atsumu only stares straight ahead, jaw tight and eyes unmoving.

Kiyoomi hesitates before he starts, “...are you mad?”

That was probably a stupid question, because as Atsumu eyes him from the side, he feels like shrinking into the car seat and never showing face to his boyfriend again. The setter, however, lays his hand palm up on the console, and Kiyoomi gladly takes the hand into his and intertwines their fingers.

Okay, so Atsumu wasn’t _that_ mad. Good.

The ride back to their apartment was a silent and tense one, but the weight of Atsumu’s hand in his managed to calm down his nerves, albeit not completely.

Even as they take the elevator and stride down the hallway leading to their shared apartment unit, neither utter a word. Kiyoomi glances at his boyfriend from time to time, but the latter’s eyes are unmoving.

It is only when they enter their unit that Atsumu’s eyes avert to turn to Kiyoomi, resulting in the latter freezing up at the icy stare. No words were uttered, but Kiyoomi understood that as a silent command to follow Atsumu into their bedroom.

After the lights had been flicked on, Atsumu sat himself heavily on the edge of the bed, leaning back and extending his arms to prop himself up. He taps his thigh as an invitation for the other to sit, and who was Kiyoomi to deny such a throne?

He climbed over and sat himself on the warm, sinewy limbs, honed by years of vigorous practice and athleticism. He fiddles with his bony fingers, palms slightly sweating as he looks down to shy away from the intense gaze Atsumu was holding him captive in.

Kiyoomi was good at reading people, but this Atsumu in front of him was undecipherable. He appeared irate, but his actions contradicted his facade, which left Kiyoomi utterly confused. He feared that saying something wrong could seriously tick off his boyfriend, so he remained silent, gnawing at his bottom lip anxiously.

A few minutes of strained silence had passed before Atsumu leaned forward with one hand to grab Kiyoomi by the chin, forcing him to look directly into the other’s hazel eyes. It was a firm hold that Kiyoomi couldn’t turn his head, but not too harsh that it hurts.

Kiyoomi somehow wishes that it did hurt. 

His train of thoughts is interrupted when Atsumu speaks up. “So what were you trying to achieve, Kiyoomi?”

The usage of his full first name has his head lightly spinning. Atsumu had probably already figured out his motive and was just trying to induce Kiyoomi into saying it out loud. However, being difficult was one of Kiyoomi’s fortes, and such an opportunity to dance around the other’s patience was too good to pass up.

“What do you mean, Atsumu? I’m not catching on.” Obviously, that was bullshit. Everything had been a set-up, and Osamu was a useful pawn who had emerged at the right time. Kiyoomi hopes that they were both on the same page, if the mildly taunting tone in his voice was anything short of a hint. He subtly bats his eyelashes just in case Atsumu hasn’t caught on.

Atsumu smirks at this, eyes darkening as the grip he holds onto Kiyoomi’s face tightens by the slightest bit, “I don’t know, Kiyoomi, you tell me. Mind telling me why you’ve been trying to make me jealous? Trying to rile me up, hmm?”

Kiyoomi thinks his brain has permanently melted. This was the first time he had heard Atsumu speak in such a condescending tone. Atsumu was one cocky motherfucker, sure, but this was entirely different, and Kiyoomi can’t deny that this side was devastatingly attractive. 

He easily breaks under this version of Atsumu, but he doesn’t let his boyfriend know for the sake of his massive ego.

“I don’t know what—” Atsumu grip gets harsher, squishing his cheeks until his words end up sounding garbled. It was a threat, and Kiyoomi can’t predict what will occur if he pushes his buttons once more.

“Drop the innocent act, baby.” Kiyoomi shudders at the endearment, and the movement doesn’t escape Atsumu. “Tell me.”

“Maybe you should fuck it out of me then.” Kiyoomi blurts out before he can think about it, his smoldering gaze matching Atsumu’s eyes as the latter’s eyebrows shoot up in astonishment. Kiyoomi had always been snarky and forward, but the attitude was never brought to the bedroom, which is why Atsumu is caught off guard. 

He cannot say, however, that this was completely unexpected. They never really did talk about sex; it simply happened the first time, and they’ve been doing it as is since then. They have always been treading on thin ice, afraid of crossing boundaries but fearing confrontation. Atsumu presumes that Kiyoomi has reached his breaking point.

“So this is what it’s all about, huh?” Atsumu smirks then, his suspicions being confirmed when Kiyoomi doesn’t object.

“You don’t always have to be gentle with me, Tsumu. I’m not made of glass, you know? So break me.”

At the last statement, Atsumu’s eyebrows shoot up. “So you’re okay with anything?”

Kiyoomi nods at this, curls bobbing up and down in fervor. He had been waiting for this for months, and now that he was mere minutes away from Atsumu giving him the best dicking of his life, he can barely conceal his enthusiasm. 

Atsumu leans in, a few centimeters distancing him from Kiyoomi. Hot breath fans over Kiyoomi’s face as the other settles his hands on his waist, caressing his sides until he reaches lower to rest his hands on Kiyoomi’s ass. The latter inhales deeply, and the more he takes in air, the hazier his mind gets—as if he was breathing in drug-laced smoke intoxicated by Atsumu.

Their lips ghost over each other, but before they could properly touch, Atsumu tilts his head towards Kiyoomi’s ear, warm puffs of air tickling his earlobe. 

“Go clean up first, princess. Don’t bother wearing anything afterwards.”

Kiyoomi outwardly groans, being cockblocked by none other than his boyfriend. _This asshole._ He is right though; Kiyoomi still hadn’t taken a shower since they had gotten home, and now that it is dawning onto him, his nose crinkles in discomfort at the realization.

Hesitantly, Kiyoomi scrambles off of Atsumu’s lap and saunters over to the bathroom, immediately turning on the shower before he even closes the door. 

\----------------------

Kiyoomi is going to die.

Actually, he cannot die. He doesn’t want his family to know he has died of sex deprivation. 

However, that doesn’t alleviate the situation at hand. They have been making out for almost ten minutes now, and as much as Kiyoomi liked kissing his boyfriend, the erection he was sporting wasn’t too ecstatic with this. 

Kiyoomi groans, partly because of pleasure but more so due to frustration as Atsumu holds his hips in place to prevent him from grinding down, as he was once again sitting atop the blonde’s thighs. 

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi panted after a particularly hard suck to his tongue, eyebrows knitted together in exasperation. When Atsumu pulls back, he drags Kiyoomi’s bottom lip with his teeth before letting go. 

Kiyoomi looks pretty like this, Atsumu thinks. Lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed, face contorted in aggravation as dilated pupils glare at him. Atsumu brings a hand up to lightly glide his knuckles over the other’s rosy complexion.

Taking matters into his own hands, Kiyoomi grabs the other’s wrist and maneuvers it into his mouth, lips wrapping around his middle and ring fingers. He puts on a show and sucks harshly, cheeks hollowing in effort as he pushes the fingers further into his mouth, until his lips reach Atsumu’s knuckles and his fingers brush against the back of his throat.

Atsumu exhales, fixated on the display. Kiyoomi draws back, tongue dragging along his fingers instead until they are thoroughly lathered in saliva—which Kiyoomi would usually find disgusting, but now, the sight of the glistening limbs arouses him further.

Hot exhales of breath contradict the cooling drool coating Atsumu’s fingers as Kiyoomi pants heavily against them. “Please, Tsumu… I need more.”

Atsumu can barely resist his lover. Kiyoomi had a way with things; he was unbelievably stubborn, and would go to extreme lengths to get what he desires. However, Atsumu would not fall victim to Kiyoomi’s tactics, no matter how tempting.

“What more do ya want, Omi? I’m not catching on.” Atsumu imitates Kiyoomi’s line earlier, and he chuckles when the latter rolls his eyes petulantly. 

“Just,” Kiyoomi pauses, groaning in vexation, “fucking hell… Just fuck me! I don’t care, use your dick or hands, just do something.”

He inserts his fingers back into Kiyoomi’s mouth, lightly pressing the pads against his tongue to prevent him from speaking, rendering him to mere whines and moans. 

Well, Kiyoomi being bossy and bratty in bed was definitely something Atsumu saw coming. He always preferred being in control, but Atsumu wasn’t about to let him take the reins this time.

Atsumu hums as if deep in thought while the pads of his fingers circle around Kiyoomi’s tongue, “I don’t know, Kiyoomi…” He quirks his head to the side in playful consideration, studying Kiyoomi’s flustered face, mouth hanging open to accommodate Atsumu’s fingers.

“I might let ya have more… If you can convince me.” He pairs the statement with fingers venturing deeper past Kiyoomi’s lips, shallowly thrusting the digits in and out.

Atsumu relishes in the choked moan that his lover lets out, his hand on Kiyoomi’s hip tightening as it involuntarily jerks at the statement. 

He slips his fingers away from Kiyoomi’s mouth, wiping down the spit on the sheets and the other doesn’t even complain, nor notice, too dazed to chastise Atsumu for dirtying the sheets. It wasn’t like they weren’t going to soil it later on.

“Come on, cat got yer tongue, Omi?” Atsumu simpers, both hands extending back so he can recline and fully observe his lover. Kiyoomi has both hands splayed over Atsumu’s chest, teeth nipping at his bottom lip in contemplation, mind figuring out what to say next. 

“Tsumu, I’ll do anything, I swear… Anything you want,” Kiyoomi is bashful like this, eyes downcasted timidly, but he faces forward again to show his conviction, “I… I’ll suck you off–”

Atsumu snickers at this, interrupting Kiyoomi, “Suck me off?”

He brushes a hand over Kiyoomi’s curls, gently at first, but when he takes a handful and _pulls,_ Kiyoomi can’t control the startled cry that escapes past his lips. Atsumu uses his grip to bring their faces closer until their noses are brushing against one another, warm breaths fanning over the other’s lips.

“Yer my bitch, Kiyoomi. I can get ya to suck me off any time.”

When Kiyoomi lets out the loudest whine of that night—well, loudest whine so far—Atsumu knows he’s hit the jackpot.

He loosens his grip on Kiyoomi’s hair without letting go, using it to maneuver him off his lap. The taller man slightly pouts at the loss of contact, but the dismay is short-lived as Atsumu holds his hip again, the other one on his lower back, probing.

“Be a good slut and put yer pretty ass up,” Kiyoomi is almost ashamed that he enjoys the derogatory endearment, but he complies nonetheless, bending over to rest his head on his forearms. He looks back afterwards to meet Atsumu’s gaze again, anticipating his next move.

Atsumu can’t help the smug grin across his face. The almighty Sakusa Kiyoomi, all snark and sarcasm, now bent over to his will. 

Of course, Kiyoomi isn’t Kiyoomi without his taunting remarks. 

“What, enjoying the view?” He wiggles his ass for good measure, lifting himself up on one elbow to cup his cheek as he peers at Atsumu through his eyelashes.

“Hell yeah I am,” Atsumu punctuates with a light smack to his butt, watching the flesh jiggle.

He kneels in front of Kiyoomi’s figure until his face is level with the other’s ass, hands grabbing both cheeks to spread them apart. Kiyoomi tries not to squirm as Atsumu lightly ghosts his thumb over his hole; he had long been naked, but he felt a new level of exposure under Atsumu’s eyes watching him like this, staring at his hole. 

It belatedly dawns on him—Atsumu was planning to eat him out. This would be their first time trying rimming, and Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if he was mentally capable for this.

“T-Tsumu, wait—” The protest is cut off by a loud moan as Atsumu licks a fat stripe from his balls to his hole, circling his tongue around the tight rim. Kiyoomi whines, vulnerability creeping up his bones as such an intimate part of him was being lapped up right now by his boyfriend. 

Atsumu slightly draws back, the drool on Kiyoomi’s skin now drying up and leaving a cooling sensation. Kiyoomi feels lightheaded, and his reaction is delayed, not being able to realize sooner that Atsumu was clearing his throat until he feels spit dribbling slowly down his skin. 

Atsumu _spat_ on him. 

He hates it. He hates how despite his extremely hygienic nature, he can’t stop his hole from involuntary clenching at the feeling. He hates how he found it hot, how Atsumu has unraveled yet another weakness.

“What the fuck, Atsumu?” Kiyoomi grunts, feigning disgust as Atsumu scoops up the fluid with two fingers and spreads it around his rim, digits occasionally dipping into his hole but never entering further. 

Atsumu sneers at Kiyoomi’s poor attempt at acting. No matter how snappy Kiyoomi was, Atsumu could always read him like an open book, immediately deciphering his words and reactions. It was clear as day to Atsumu that his boyfriend thoroughly enjoys this.

“Degrading, and now spitting?” Atsumu chuckles darkly, watching as Kiyoomi struggles to meet his eyes, his cheeks reddening, “I never took you to be such a whore, Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t even attempt to conceal his heavy pants, or the way his hole winks yet again. “Shut the fuck up, Tsumu.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow at this, one corner of his lips uplifting, “From what I’m hearing, it should be you that’s shutting up, brat.”

Before Kiyoomi can retort, Atsumu immediately dives in, pairing aggressive licks with two fingers now pumping in and out of the other. Kiyoomi cries out at the sudden stimulation, hands fisting into the sheets as he pushes his ass back, craving for more.

When Atsumu has managed to loosen up his hole enough, he slides in his tongue along with his fingers, thrusting the muscle inside as his lips remain latched onto his puckered hole, sucking and slurping. 

Kiyoomi is near screaming now, jaw going slack as Atsumu continues to reach deep inside him, enough for his eyes to roll back and see stars cloud his vision. 

“There–fuck, Atsumu! There! Keep going!” Kiyoomi exclaims when Atsumu’s tongue lightly brushes against his prostate. God, he was so glad Atsumu decided to try out rimming because this was heaven. Kiyoomi can’t recognize life now without his ass being eaten. 

Kiyoomi’s thighs start to quiver as Atsumu continuously brushes up against the sensitive flesh, and the former’s moans start to get louder and high-pitched as he nears euphoric bliss. His hips are uncontrollably pushing back now, shoving Atsumu’s tongue and fingers deeper into him.

Just as Kiyoomi’s lips open to warn the other that he was coming, the haze of ecstasy is suddenly cleared as Atsumu withdraws, pulling back his fingers and leaving Kiyoomi’s glistening hole gaping at him, clenching around emptiness. 

The words die in Kiyoomi’s throat as they morph into a sorrowful groan, head hanging in between his shoulders due to frustration. 

“Why the fuck did you stop?” Kiyoomi growls, turning back to glare at Atsumu who was feigning innocence.

“Well,” Atsumu starts, “you’ve only convinced me to fuck ya, Omi. Ya didn’t convince me to let ya cum.”

Kiyoomi only rolls his eyes at this. Atsumu was one sadistic fucker, and snatching away Kiyoomi’s orgasm just as he was on the verge gave him pleasure. 

He lies down on his side now, too tired and agitated to keep his hips up high. It was unfair, Atsumu thinks. Here Kiyoomi was, frustrated and spent, and yet he still managed to look like a Greek statue sculpted by the gods splayed out across their sheets.

Kiyoomi brings a hand up to rest on his forehead, eyes averting to stare at Atsumu, “so whaddya want me to do now? I told you, I’ll do anything.”

Atsumu laughs at him. Sakusa Kiyoomi, ever so direct and negotiable.

“Well, if yer offering so nicely…” Atsumu pretends to ponder, finger tapping his chin, “why don’t ya fuck yourself on my cock like a good whore and show me how much ya want it?” 

Kiyoomi doesn’t even show a hint of hesitation before he sits up, urging Atsumu to lean back against the headboard as he clambers over his lap yet again. 

“Woah, someone’s eager.” Atsumu chortles, hands reaching out to steady Kiyoomi’s hips. 

Kiyoomi was painfully hard, precum continuously trickling down his length—but that makes the both of them. 

“I wonder who it could be,” Kiyoomi retaliates.

He leans over to grab the bottle of lube that Atsumu had conveniently placed atop their bedside table, _thank God,_ and Kiyoomi wastes no time in preparing them both. One hand sneaks behind him to lube up his entrance, and another drizzles the substance onto Atsumu’s cock before he takes the hot, heavy length in his hand and fists him up and down.

Atsumu sharply inhales when the other grips his length firmly, scooting closer with one hand resting on his shoulder for support as Kiyoomi aligns his entrance with his dick. He pauses momentarily, gazing intently into Atsumu’s eyes as the latter returns the action with the same fervor.

The moment he sinks down, they both simultaneously release a groan, finally relishing in the raw, explicit feeling of being connected with each other. 

As much as he was eager to get the show going, Kiyoomi had to settle down first on the other’s girth if he didn’t want to be limping his way into practice for the following days. Atsumu was definitely above average, and no amount of fingering could fully prepare Kiyoomi.

He circles his hips experimentally, resulting in yet another grunt from Atsumu. When there are no hints of discomfort lingering, he clutches Atsumu firmly by his shoulders, lifting himself up until the tip catches onto his rim before slamming back down, burying Atsumu to the hilt.

Kiyoomi gasps delightedly at the intrusion, head bowing down in pleasure as he repeats the action, forming a steady rhythm.

“Fuck, Omi,” Atsumu pants, “ya feel so good, so tight. Fuck, yer really sucking me in there.”

Moans reverberate through the room as Kiyoomi bounces himself onto his cock, hands gliding down to roam around Atsumu’s chest, squeezing the fleshy pecs defined by years of training. 

“Ya look so cute, Omi,” Atsumu coos, leaning back and wearing a smug expression, “like a bitch in heat, getting off of anything you see.”

A piercing gasp escapes from Kiyoomi, hips stuttering before picking up the pace again. 

“I’m not even trying, Kiyoomi. All I hafta do is sit back as ya try to chase yer release again.” 

His eyes begin to roll back into his head when he grinds down on Atsumu, and a particular swivel of his hips has the head of his cock rubbing against his prostate. 

“F-Fuck, hah,” Kiyoomi starts to stutter on his moans, whines increasing in pitch and volume when Atsumu leans over to mouth at his throat, sucking onto the flushed skin. He couldn’t even bother to reprimand Atsumu for leaving a hickey on such an obvious spot, mind too occupied with reaching the same high he was deprived of earlier.

Atsumu takes advantage of his debauched state and flips them over. Now, Atsumu was hovering over Kiyoomi’s figure, back pressed into the mattress. 

Now that the blonde had control, he sped up the pace from earlier, his hips slapping against the back of Kiyoomi’s thighs that were wrapped around his waist. He railed Kiyoomi into the mattress, his body jolting with every brutal thrust of Atsumu’s hips. 

“Ah– Atsumu! T-Tsumu… fuck…” Kiyoomi was rendered incoherent, only managing to babble Atsumu’s name followed by a string of curses.

Atsumu guides one of his thighs, hiking it up higher until his ankle is dangling from his shoulder. They both moan at the new angle, with Atsumu managing to piston his hips deeper into Kiyoomi. The tip of his cock was repeatedly bumping over Kiyoomi’s prostate, and Kiyoomi would release a sound—a moan, a whine, or a gasp—everytime his sensitive spot was rammed.

One hand is braced beside Kiyoomi’s head as his other one strokes his cheek, wiping away the saliva that had gathered by the sides of his mouth before rubbing the slicked finger against his bottom lip.

“Yer my little bitch right? My good fucktoy?”Atsumu sneers, the hand fondling Kiyoomi’s lip gliding down until it lightly rests on his neck.

“Answer me.”

Kiyoomi rapidly nods, words failing him as Atsumu continues to plow into his willing body, and he feels like at some point his torso has permanently clung to their mattress but Atsumu doesn’t let up, his pace relentless and unforgiving. As if to prove a point, the loose grip he had on the raven-haired man’s throat tightens, and Kiyoomi can’t control the choked moan slipping past his lips.

“Remember this, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu exhales, leaning in closer to whisper in his ear, “all of this, all of ya. This is all mine to fuck, to use, to ruin.” He punctuates every word with a brutal thrust of his hips.

Kiyoomi gasps, eyes uncontrollably rolling into the back of his head as white stars start to appear before him again. 

“Or is that too much for a stupid whore like you to understand?”

As soon as Atsumu loosens his hold on the other’s throat, Kiyoomi pants out a hoarse response, “yes, fuck… yes! ‘M all yours, Tsumu.”

“Good boy.” 

Tears well up in Kiyoomi’s hazy eyes, a lone one slipping and cascading down his pale complexion. His eyelashes were glued together as he repeatedly blinked away more tears. He can’t cry. He was a good boy for Atsumu, and good boys don’t cry. 

Atsumu’s sneer grows menacing at the sight.

“Are ya close?” Atsumu heaves, his hip movements becoming jerky as he nears his climax. Kiyoomi, unable to formulate a proper response, only manages to nod.

The hand resting on Kiyoomi’s neck makes its way down until it reaches his length, and Kiyoomi’s eyes widen as Atsumu’s hand slithers in between their heated bodies, dangerously close to his throbbing cock.

“No, A—” His outcry is interrupted by the loud scream his throat releases as Atsumu’s knuckle brushed against the head of his dick. He had already been extremely sensitive since he was barely touched throughout the whole night, and the slightest graze against his erection had managed to tip him over. 

Kiyoomi was falling off a cliff, suspended in air as his head was in a state of extreme euphoria. Spurts of cum landed across their stomachs, a few even reaching Kiyoomi’s chin due to the intensity of his orgasm. He could hardly breathe, nor notice Atsumu’s movements come to a stop as he groans deeply, painting Kiyoomi’s insides with hot, white paint.

Before Atsumu even pulls out, Kiyoomi’s eyelids fly shut, fatigue weighing them down as he falls into slumber.

\------------

Kiyoomi blinks his eyes open to darkness, and it takes a few moments for him to register that currently, his face was buried into Atsumu’s chest as the latter’s arms were wrapped around him. The only source of light in the room was their lampshade situated on their bedside table.

“Tsumu?” He whispers into the night, but the other’s steady breathing indicates that he was already sound asleep.

He wasn’t sweaty anymore, nor did he feel cum inside him, so Kiyoomi assumes that his boyfriend had cleaned it up after he was knocked out. He smiles, pecking the skin in front of him as a temporary token of appreciation.

He could always properly thank him tomorrow. But right now, the sense of comfort and domesticity was lulling him into sleep, and so he surrenders—closing his eyes with a satiated smile lingering on his face.


End file.
